A Collection of Beatings
by The Fangs of a Girl
Summary: Behind the scenes of Craig's childhood beatings. Chapter 3 is writter by my bestest friend, Sofia! rr please
1. Luka

Ten year old Craig sat down at the edge of the bed and sighed. _Time to go see Mom and the baby again_, he thought. His father, Albert Manning came into the room and nodded at Craig.

"Good, you're up." he said sternly. "You're going on the bus at three." He looked at his watch, "It's three-thirty now." Craig looked at his father, his mouth wide open.

"Are you serious?" he asked. Albert nodded, "Call your mother, and tell her you're not coming." He left the room. Craig hit his head on his palm. He got up and looked at the alarm clock on the desk. It read 2:20. He shook his head and ran into the other room.

"Dad!" he yelled. His father turned around and looked at him.

"_What?!" _he screamed, "_What, Craig, what, come on, just TELL ME!" _Craig backed into the wall, his father following him, almost pushing him. Craig stuttered a response. Albert grabbed his shirt and pulled him up.

"ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION YET?!" Albert screamed. Craig nodded, scared, crying. Albert threw him at the wall at the other side of the room. Craig screamed, a shot of unbearable pain going through his back. His father went over to him and looked down at him, glaring.

"You get it, Craiger?" he asked. Craig nodded, still crying, "I get it Dad."


	2. Please Don't Believe Me

He had been awake all night, lying there, listening to the words, shooting through him, crying silently. Over and over, back and forth: 

_Come on, Albert; just get the hell over your fists, he dosen't need to see this! He's only seven!  
_

**Stop falling in love with a car salesman!**

_Don't even touch me! _

**He'll end up just like you, A FAILURE!**

Craig cringed at every word. He bit his bottom lip, shaking, crying. He whispered, "Oh god, stop it already, just stop them." When Albert left to go get a drink, his prayers were finally answered.

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**Okay: Italics is Julia and Bold is Albert. **


	3. Hell is for Children

The 14-year-old photographer stood alone outside his step dad Joey's house after just seeing his half sister, Angie. He took some pictures of his surroundings and started to walk home feeling a pang of anxiety rise within him. A pain he can't rid himself of, he's hurt, hurt in a place that needs a special kind of healing. He put his hand over his chest ….the pain was from his heart. A most troublesome territory, and the heart can only be healed by something called love, which he was yet to receive, especially from his own father. Craig walked through the door and saw Albert sitting at the table with his fingers massaging his temples in frustration and looked at Craig with a glare. A glare full of bitterness, impatience, and pure anger towards the teenager that had just walked in. 

Craig was terrified. Completely and utterly full of fear of his father's cruel intentions, which he had already experienced, and he didn't look forward to anymore physical abuse, from whom he had called father. Craig tried to love him…but deep down in his heart had always despised Albert. He just couldn't, HE COULD"NT ANYMORE!! _Why is it me he has to lash out on, why me!?!? _Albert rose from his seat acting as cold as usually as he advanced towards Craig.

"Dad….w-what's going on?" Albert shot Craig an infuriated glance.

"Just shut up and come with me!"

Craig paced himself for what is father had in mind and why. Craig followed his dad upstairs, they went into Craig's room and Albert slammed and locked the door behind them.

"Now Craiger…what did I tell you!!" Craig didn't understand what his father meant but was startled by his sudden outburst. He took a step back as his father snatched his camera out of Craig's hands and tossed it fiercely into the wall and Craig felt crushed as the pieces of what was once his beloved camera had scattered to the carpeting. Craig looked up and expected an explanation for- his father smashing one of his most precious belongings, but instead got a harsh punch in the face. Craig fell to the floor; Albert stomped towards him and gave Craig two more blows in the face from each side. Just then, he grabbed Craig by the collar with a look of hatred in his eyes. He choked Craig as he lifted him up to the wall tightening his hold on Craig's neck.

"DON'T BE A DUMBASS!! WHY DID YOU GO TO THAT MORON'S HOUSE!?" Just then Albert leaned in next to Craig's ear, and whispered, "You know he doesn't care about you...like I do". Albert then released his hold on Craig's neck and shoved him into his closet shutting him into darkness. Craig lay stunned in the closet as he heard the door slam and sat up reaching for the way out and when he finally did and tried to open the door and failed he realized, _Great_ …._I'm locked in._

Hours later, Craig awoke finding himself still locked in darkness. Craig was saddened by this because when he had fallen asleep hours ago he was hoping it was just a nightmare but it turns out it wasn't. He heard footsteps coming from up the stairs growing closer, Craig's heart began to beat fast, each beat hurting him even more. He heard the door to his bedroom open and in faster then he could keep up his father had unlocked and thrust open the closet door. Craig squinted at the light since he had been in a dark closet for the past five hours.

Looking very stern Albert said, "Get up! Dinner's downstairs." Albert walked out and slammed the bedroom door, Craig stood up cringing at the fresh pain from his most recent beatings this afternoon. After Albert had left the bedroom, he began stomping down to the kitchen. Craig stepped out and began to clean up the bits and pieces of the smashed camera that still lay strewn across the bedroom floor.


	4. No Son Of Mine

Craig sat in his room trying to push away the memory of last night's incident. He could still feel his father's fingers wrapped around his neck and worst of all …the look of hatred. It scared him and last night's dinner was just sickeningly awkward. There was a pain at the edge of Craig's fingertips, a word for what was happening to him, crawling on the tip of his tongue, but he was too bruised to say it. His thoughts were interrupted by the shrieking of the phone. He picked it up, shaking. 

"Hello?" he asked the other line. The voice that pierced his lifeless heart was his father's. The cold voice told him that he was sorry for breaking yet another camera, and that he'd buy another one with him when he got home from work. Craig nodded somberly and told Albert that that was all right with him, then hung up. He looked over at his dresser and his eyes traveled to a picture of his mother, Julia. Then an ungodly wail fell out of his chest, filling the room. He felt the choking pain of the tears again, keeping his stomach in tight agony.

He screamed for his mother, pushing his fists into the walls, screaming, crying, sobbing, and making noises no one should ever make. He sounded almost animalistic, his cries never ending. He ran out the door, down the flights of stairs and out of the house, holding his stomach in pain.

When he reached the front lawn, he bent over and vomited on the grass, purging his pain and anger and hatred and fright. His back arched and fell over and over. When he felt good enough to even get up, he ran harder and faster with every step and with all the energy he had left in his scarred, frightened body, until he found his mother's grave. He keeled over, his legs weak and his head spinning. He cried out, another un-human wail.

"WHY? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ME HERE! I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME! BUT ALL YOU DID WAS MAKE IT WORSE! MOM, ALL I WANT IS FOR YOU TO COME BACK TO ME! PROTECT ME, HE'S CRAZY, MOM, HE'S CRAZY! OH GOD, HELP ME, PLEASE!" he wailed, screamed at the grave, "YOU LEAVE ME HERE TO ROT WITH HIM! I'M CUT, I'M BRUISED, I FEEL SICK EVERY DAY, I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE! MAKE HIM FUCKING STOP!" His voice cracked, and he broke down in sobs again, hugging at the grass. He lay there for about an hour, wishing that his mother were still alive, when a pair of arms lifted him off the ground and into a car, where he promptly fell asleep.

When he woke up, he was lying in his own bed, his head and stomach pounding with pain. He looked at the bruise on his arm and licked his lips, feeling the cut on his lower lip. He tried to get up, but he was in too much pain. He knew that his father had beaten him—again.


	5. A Gunshot to the Head of Trepidation

**Okay, here is where I explain something! Sofia wrote from "Craig thought about..." to "how glad I am to hear that" and from, "Craig approached him" to the end. Okay, thankers! **

**Oh, and I don't own Degrassi. **

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"Hey, baby boy." Julia whispered into Craig's ear one morning. He was eight years old, and he had slept at his stepfather's for the night; his father had cme home last night drunk. Craig opened his eyes, blinking at the light. His mother's face was over him, smiling. She kissed his cheek.

"Wake up. Joe made breakfast," she whispered and left the room. Craig sat up, looking around the room, noticing that he was sleeping in the living room. The leather of the couch stuck to his bare feet, cold and pale. He shivered and shoved himself under the blanket. He looked up at the ceiling, smiling. He was glad to be at Joey's. He felt safer there. He got up, putting his feet on the cold wooden ground and stood up. He wrapped his arms around his hoodie and pulled it off.

"Craig, do you want eggs or pancakes?" Joey asked from the other room. Craig shrugged, "Whatever Mom's having." Joey nodded and went back into the kitchen. Craig followed him, his feet scuffling on the ground. He sat at the table and stretched. His mother came in, kissing him on the head.

"Hi, my son." She sat down next to him and lay her head down on the table, looking up at her new husband.

"Joe… Should we tell him?" she asked. Craig looked at his mother, curious. Joey nodded and Julia sat up and turned to Craig.

"You're such a stud." Julia laughed, "But honey. I'm pregnant." She smiled at Craig, waiting for a response. Craig thought about it, a little shocked but for some odd reason, not bothered by this. Craig had look on his face that looked as if he was processing new and most certainly surprising information. He glanced back up at his mother and simply responded by saying, "Mom…um that's great, really I'm happy for you." Craig's mother's face instantly went from the what's-my-son-gonna-think expression to the-most-relieved-mother-in-the-world expression as a bright smile formed on her lips and she said, "Good…you have no idea how happy I am to hear that." Craig smiled and hugged her, "I love you Mom."

When he went home that night, his father was leaning over charts from the hospital, reading them intently, and scratching notes. Craig approached him warily as his father glanced over at him with bored and tired expression over his face. Craig didn't want to disturb him, as he put the pen down he let out a long deep sigh full of total exhaustion. Craig changed his mind and began to walk upstairs. Albert turned to see him half way up and called "Craiger!" Craig started downstairs again and stepped into the kitchen, pulled out a chair and sat down next to his father.

Craig eyed his father's expression carefully and started to grow very uncomfortable, his father's face was cold….very cold, and looked at Craig with a hateful look in his eyes. Although Craig was just a boy, at 8 years of age, he knew what this meant. His father was mad…real mad. Craig gulped at the fear spreading inside him and said, "Dad…what is it? Is something wrong?" Albert grabbed his arm viciously making the grip so hard and painful that it began to feel numb. Craig took a sharp intake of breath, as his father said, "I'm fed up with you!" Craig was fearful of his words, and shivered at his hollow yet harsh tone. Craig looked at him as his eyes welled up in tears and said, "Dad I don't understand." Albert looked at Craig disgusted, "Shut up!" You're an ungrateful little brat! Do you know how hard I work for you?!" Craig felt the tears stream down his face.

"Yes, dad I'm sorry." Albert released his arm and tossed it aside.

"Well sorry won't cut it!" Just then, he grabbed his shoulder and shoved him into the wall and Craig felt the hard impact on his head and back as he fell to the floor weeping as a picture of his mother dropped from the wall he had just been thrown into. The glass in the frame was shattered as the rest of the pieces were scattered about the kitchen floor, the sound of it shattering, ripping and tearing at his heart and through his ears. Albert stepped on the broken portrait, rubbing his shoe in it, smudging it…tainting it. He stepped onto the already sharp and shattered fragments of glass, cracking it under each foot. His father gave him a dirty look walking past him and said "Clean it up!….and stop crying."

Craig cringed as he picked up the sharp pieces of glass and framing. When his fingers reached the picture of his mother he caressed it in his hands and whispered as his father walked into the room, "Mom's pregnant." Albert heard him and picked him up by the back of his shirt.

"What did you just say, you brat?!" he screamed in Craig's face. Craig shuddered and couldn't speak. Albert carried him by the neck to his room and slammed him against the wall. Craig cried out, "STOP! STOP!" Albert gritted his teeth and smacked him sharply across the face and tugged him upward fiercely by Craig's brown locks. Craig's face was flushed and stained with the many tears he had shed, he looked scared, upset, sick, and partially disoriented from all the throbbing pains. But Albert didn't care, he didn't care at all, all he felt was resentment, anger, frustration, rage, and misery and directed all at Craig. Craig was starting to believe that he wasn't a son to Albert at all…..just a punching bag. Craig was broken from all thought as he felt his father knee him in the stomach and punch him in several various places on his body. Craig let his father have his way with him, as he knew by now he was to weak to fight him, for he was just a boy and his father…a man. Craig felt the pain sear and rip him apart as he tried to reason with him and begging for it all to stop. But there was no use, he could NOT reason with his own father. Albert took out all his frustration in his daily life out on Craig. Albert tore Craig's shirt from the side as he pulled him closer and took an old wooden baseball bat from the corner and threw Craig to the floor as the hard wood began to hit him repeatedly, each swing hitting him harder and soon enough it ended. Craig's father tossed the bat aside not saying a word leaving the room and slamming it behind him with absolutely no regrets about the pain he brought about upon Craig…his own blood…his own son.

Craig lay writhing on the floor in pain, shaking having constant flashbacks about every little thing he had just _survived. _No matter how many beatings he got the strongest pain he had was the pain within which was his heart. Every heartbeat bruising him a little more inside, little by little. He felt as if he was internally bleeding, bleeding from his heart , he wanted all the ugliness and pain to just leave! He couldn't stand it! It just hurt too much. **_HE _**was too much.


	6. Bury My Lovely

**This is another two-parter! I don't own Degrassi.**

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"Craiger? Why aren't you out of bed? Its 9:30!" Dr. Manning said, poking his head into the room of ten year old Craig Manning. Craig looked up tiredly and said, "It's a day off Dad." Dr. Manning shrugged.

"Sorry. Well, I'm going to work kiddo. See you tonight?" he asked. Craig nodded and laid his head back on the pillow. He curled his hands into fists and smiled, then cracked his knuckles one by one. He hummed something random, a couple of notes. He shook his head and leaned it against the wall. He looked around the room and mumbled, "Morning Craig," to himself, then, "I wonder if I got taller over night." He stood up and went to the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror, looking at the black mark along the side of the mirror, where he was last night. He got closer to the mirror and looked at his head, just an inch above the black mark. He grinned and danced in front of the mirror.

"Hell yes, Craig's taller. Hell yes," he sang and he picked up the phone. He dialed in a number and put the phone to his ear. When someone picked up, he smiled.

"Hey Joey, is my mom there?" he asked the man on the other end. It was his step-father.

"Sure, Craig, hold on. I just have to see if she's awake." Joey said softly, walking into Julia's room. Julia's head was leaned to one side, and she was sitting up in the bed, breathing slowly. She turned her head toward Joey and smiled.

"Jooooe," she sighed softly. Joey kissed her forehead.

"Hi, sweetie, you wanna talk to Craig?" he asked. Julia nodded weakly, taking in a breath, and reached for the phone, her hands shaking.

"Hello?" she said breathily, taking another unsteady mouthful of air. Craig smiled, lying on his back in the middle of the living room.

"Hi, Mom. You sound a lot better!" he said into the phone, happily. Julia smiled, "Thanks, sweetie. I feel a lot better. You know, Craigy, it's good to hear your voice after so long. How's your father?"

"He's at work, and I've got a day off from school today!" Craig said, gladly. Then Craig frowned and looked down at his wrist. There was a bruise from his father twisting his arm so hard, it still hurt a little. He and Julia talked for a while, and when she felt tired, she hung up and went to sleep. When his father got home, Craig was asleep still. But something was wrong with Albert. His face was red and puffy with tears. He shook Craig awake and looked at him, hard.

"What's wrong, Dad?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. Dr. Manning shrugged.

"One of my patients died today." He sighed and took Craig's hand, "His father used to beat him."


	7. Concrete Angel

**A/N: I'm back. I felt like updating my stories some. And you people have been clamoring for more beatings. Wow. That sounds odd. Here we go.**

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"_One of my patients died today… his father used to beat him."_ The words swirled over Craig's head and he felt nauseous. He looked down at his father's hand and then back up to his face.

"W-what?" he asked, his voice choking. His father sighed and tried to hold back tears as he held onto his son's bruised wrist.

"I know, I know. It's a horrible story. I met his father too. The only reason he died was because his father had thrown him down the stairs and into a cement wall, and when he fell he crushed his spine." Albert explained. The word 'spine' echoed in Craig's head. He had no idea why that one word would echo. Why just the word 'spine'? He shook that thought off and went back to looking at his father.

"Can you believe that man, Craiger? Throwing his own son, the boy that he created, down the stairs! The boy had no chance of living. His spine was unfixable. By the time the mother got him to the hospital, his neck was broken, and he had lost too much blood to even survive. I had to close this little boy's eyes and…" Craig's father shut his own eyes and sobbed lightly. Craig was still speechless.

Suddenly, Albert was looking up. His eyes were angry and dark.

"Craiger? Are you listening to me?" he asked Craig, the grip on his wrist getting tighter, "Are you listening, Craig!" he yelled. Craig looked up, unaware that his thoughts were about to spew out of his head.

"But I don't get it Dad. Don't you hit me?" he asked. His once happy eyes turned remorseful and ashamed. _I shouldn't have said that_, he thought immediately. His father stood up slowly, or maybe it was faster than that. Maybe time had stopped for Craig. Maybe he was about to die. Maybe his father was finally about to finish him off. And maybe that would be better. Maybe if Craig was dead, everything would be okay again. Or maybe not.

"Craig. I do _not_ hit you." Albert looked sincerely shocked, "Of course I don't hit you. What would make you think that?!" Albert yelled and raised his hand above his head. He swung downwards and before Craig knew it, his face stung and he had a cut on his right cheek.

Albert stared at his hand and then at Craig's now tear-stained face. Craig was sprawled on the bed, one long drip of blood on his cheek falling down onto his bed sheet and staining it. A permanent mark of his father's abuse. Albert looked from his son back to his hand and then back to Craig. His eyes cast downward and he shook his head. He mumbled something unintelligible and Craig tried to ask him what it was he just said. But it came out a squeak, and responding to this squeak, Albert yelled, "You heard me! GET OUT!" Craig scuttled to the ground and ran around his father and ran out the front door, slamming it behind him.


End file.
